


Anything But Mine

by Whreflections



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fear of Coming Out, Fear of Discovery, Infidelity, M/M, POV First Person, Underage Sex, and by underage I mean the first sex occurs when Jensen is 16, backwards storytelling, could be hints of future Jensen/Misha if you squint, implied drunk sex, though that's entirely optional and dependent on your reading of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 04:12:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1373488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whreflections/pseuds/Whreflections
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen Ackles falls in love with Jeffrey Dean Morgan on a trip down to the tip of Florida when he's 16.  It takes him about two weeks to know it, and ten years to come to terms with it.  Jeff, he knew a lot sooner.  Pain is often a matter of timing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anything But Mine

**Author's Note:**

> So I started this fic...wow, about four years ago. The inspiration came to me when I was down on Sanibel for vacation, and I wrote about 3 pages or so and then put it aside to work on other Supernatural related things, thinking I'd be back to it soon. Long story short, I ended up drifting into other fandoms for a very long time. 
> 
> I never expected this to be the story I come back to the Supernatural fandom with, but I opened the document and it was the easiest thing in the world to just start writing. Honestly, I'm glad it happened like that, because I think this story came out all the better for it. It's not a happy story, but I'm proud of it. 
> 
> Anyway, if there is anything that bothers anyone/would bother anyone about this story that I forgot to tag, please tell me! I know underage really squicks a lot of people, so I wanted to make sure I had that tagged multiple ways, particularly with the 12 year age gap between these two. But, for those of you that are on the fence, I will give on spoiler and say that Jensen very much knows his own mind, and all sexual activity in this story is 100% consensual. It's not always healthy(infidelity, etc.), but it IS always consensual. 
> 
> That said, here goes...

The summer of 1998, me and my mom went on a much needed vacation.  More needed for her than me, really, because she worked too hard.  My dad, he’s a good for nothing son of a bitch.  Not that she sees that, and not that I’d ever tell her _I_ think that, but it’s true.  He ran off when she was 5 months pregnant, and though we’ve never heard a word from him since to hear her talk you’d think one day he’s just gonna waltz right back in the door.  Not that I think he will, but if he ever did I’d be coming right in behind him to give a piece of my mind and show him right back out. 

My mom, she’s wonderful.  I was lucky like that.  Better even than I knew as a kid, and honestly probably even better than I think now.  She worked hard to take care of both of us, but if we ever had money trouble when I was a kid she never let me see it.  The older I got, though, the more I knew just how much working those hours took out of her, and when she said we should really take a _real_ break, go down and spend a month on this little island near the tip of Florida, I agreed even though I’d miss a couple of my best friend Chris’ parties that’d be goin’ on around town while I was gone.  At that age, it felt like a big sacrifice.  And in my defense, Chris throws a great party. 

It was just our third day there when I met Jeff.  I’d gone over to Captiva Island, right next to Sanibel where we were staying and even smaller, and I was wandering around trying to mostly keep to myself.  He was fishing off a boat dock, shirt half open.  He was just tan enough that you could tell he nearly lived out on those waters, and everything about him just looked strong and a little rough around the edges. 

Here, I should probably add something else to make this all make a little more sense.  At that point in my life, I hadn’t even admitted to myself there was no way I’d ever be happy with a woman.  I knew I wasn’t attracted to them, that was easy enough to tell, but I wouldn’t let myself admit that I _was_ attracted to guys, either.  I knew what I wanted, and it involved medical school and a nice house and 2.5 kids so I could prove that being a dad wasn’t something so impossible you had to take off and run from it, even if you had no role model to judge by.  In all of that, nowhere did it fit that I’d never met a woman I wanted to so much as kiss much less marry.  Still, I had it there in my plan, cemented in the back of my mind.  I couldn’t be gay, because it didn’t work with where I needed to end up.  It didn’t fit.  To me then, it was as simple as that.

Of course, none of that stopped the fact that hormonally, I was a 16 year old boy who’d just seen the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on, and I think initially it was instinct that made up its mind for the rest of me.  Don’t get me wrong, though, it wasn’t _just_ that, not with us.  If all it had ever been with Jeff was just really awesome sex, it would’ve been just as meaningless as I tried to make it, but I’m getting ahead of myself.  Seeing him, that’s what drew me.  The reality of Jeffrey Dean Morgan, that was why I stayed. 

I came up, asked what he was fishin’ for even though I had _no_ clue what was even in the waters or any idea at all how to talk remotely intelligently about fishing.  16 year old me was a little bit too cocky.  Either way, if he knew I was bullshitting him right off, he didn’t show it.  He told me, and I don’t even remember his answer.  He asked me what I was doing out that way, and I told him about vacation and getting away from Dallas for a while.  He said he was from Seattle, and I told him I’d never be able to stand all that rain.  He looked at me then, laughing, and he said “Neither could I, what  d’you think I’m doin’ here?” 

It was something in his smile, I think, or maybe just in his eyes but as many times as I’ve looked back on those first weeks, I think that was it, the moment that really clenched it.  He was vibrant and full of life with a warmth to him that I thought I’d have been able to feel even just seein’ him smile from across a room.  I’d never been in love until then.

That realization, though…that’s all hindsight.  It’s the kind of clarity you get when you run through something in your mind over and over.  At the time, I just knew that I wanted to stay and talk, so I did.  All afternoon.  He was 28, and he’d come down to Florida at 24 after spending 6 years in the Navy right out of high school.  He’d done a lot of work on the ships, welding mostly, and even though he didn’t ever want to go back in he was glad he’d served his time.  He listened to me talk about applying to colleges and my plans for medical school, and even though I was young then with him I didn’t feel it.  I’d never exactly been the most outgoing guy around, either.  Hell, back home, Chris had that title covered.  But with Jeff…I don’t know, it was different.  He was easy to be around in general, easy to talk to and listen to and just as easy to sit in silence with. 

Those first few days are kind of a blur, now.  The conversations all run into each other and I’m not sure exactly which ones took place when, but that first week we spent a lot of time talking.  He ran a little fishing boat that took tourists out on the weekdays, but only for about half the day.  After that he was free, and though the first couple days we kind of ‘accidentally’ ran into each other, after that we gave up pretending it wasn’t planned.  We talked and laughed and a couple times I watched him fish, though he found out pretty quick I had next to no interest in learning how.  I joined him and his buddies in a couple pickup football games in the sand, and we spent one afternoon with a whole group of locals swimming off a beach on the Gulf side.   

That whole time, I didn’t think.  One of the good things about being that age, I guess, because if I’d stopped to think about what I was doing, what I _wanted_ , I’d have probably stopped talking to him before things got too deep.  As it was, I just kept right at it, spending all the time with him I could. 

To this day, I don’t know how he figured me out.  I mean, I guess I should because it stands to reason that those kinds of signals are pretty universal.  It’s kind of sad, really, how little about all of that I know even at my age now.  Jeff’s the only man I’ve ever been with, the only man I’ve ever pursued or been pursued by.  One way or another, he knew about me before I did.

It was about halfway through our second week there, and I was on the boat with him, just a little ways out into the water somewhere between Sanibel and Fort Myers.  We were leaning on the rail, and I’d been trying to tell him what people from Texas saw in bull riding.  He was explaining all the reasons that to him it seemed insane, and I was laughing because if I had to be honest, for the most part he was right.  I looked over at him, and he leaned in and kissed me. 

In my memories, it’s a lot more momentous than it really was at the time.  There was no hesitation to it, nothing to make it into a big production.  For me, though, it was one of the most important moments of my life up to that point, because after it, I couldn’t really lie to myself anymore.  It wasn’t my first kiss, and that was half of why it was such a big deal.  The girls that I’d kissed, I’d never _felt_ anything.  I went through the motions, but it was more for them and for the sake of bragging to Chris than it was for me, because I didn’t really give a damn either way.  Kissing them was mechanical; kissing Jeff was sensory. 

In this memory as I relive it, I can feel the calluses on Jeff’s fingers, smell the strange mix of salt and lime and fish that he often carried on the boat, feel his exhale against my cheek, faint at first then heavier as he settled into the kiss, as he realized I wasn’t going to push him away.  I laughed a little when we pulled apart, a little high, a little shaky.  It was a goddamn good kiss, and I was gay with certainty now, irreversibly, and Jeff was smiling back at me and I couldn’t have held on any tighter to that railing if my life depended on it.

But I don’t want you to get the wrong idea; this isn’t a summer movie.  You know what I mean- lovers meet, whirlwind romance, maybe a separation but they come back together, maybe they dance at their wedding on the beach or sail away into some beautiful Atlantic sunset.

I can tell you from experience, the sunsets down here _are_ that gorgeous, and it feels good sometimes to sail out to meet them.  There’s a quiet out on the water after dark that nothing in the world has but the ocean; it’s a peace that feels as threatening as it does soothing.  The ocean doesn’t love you.  Sometimes, she tolerates your presence.  The sunset and the boat, that I can might can give you, but as for the rest, here’s the truth-

Jeffrey Dean Morgan died just under two months ago at the age of 38, the victim of a brain tumor I never knew he had.   I knew him for ten years, and he was mine for none of it.  Or all of it, depending on who you ask.  I don’t think I deserve to lay any claim, but maybe when I’ve told it all you’ll see it differently.  Somehow I doubt it. 

I tried to start with the beginning, but it’s too hard, knowing the end.  The only way I can tell this now, I think, is to work backwards.  You’ll have to connect the dots for yourself. 

\---------

There is no grave.  Coming from a land of tradition, this is hard for me to take.  Maybe Misha knows, maybe that’s at least half of why he pushes the urn into my hands with such a careful touch.

“There’s not many ashes left.  We’ve mostly spread them already, but.”  He shrugs, and his eyes meet mine.  He would deny it, but there’s accusation there.  “He knew you’d come back.  I told him I’d save a bit.”

They’re in a little plastic sack, the kind my grandpa used to bring me little tiny polished rocks in when I was a kid.  Just right for polished rocks and little seashells and pinches of human ash.  I carry him to the dock where we met, to the lighthouse, to his street thinking about the back of his Jeep where we first made love.  I wonder if anyone has ever left bits of ash in a car. 

The Jeep’s gone, of course it is.  He’s been gone himself near two months.  In its place, there’s a van.  By the look of the inflatable horses in the back window of it, the new tenants have little girls. 

I go down to the wildlife refuge and walk until I see no other creatures but the spoonbills, stepping slow as they sift through the water.  I turn the bag over and over in my fingers, wondering which piece of him I hold. 

 

 

The postcard sits by my bed for ages.  I could lie and say it was buried by medical textbooks and sheaves of notes, but it wasn’t; it was covered first by junk mail, an empty bag of potato chips, a remote control, a new set of guitar strings I haven’t had the time to put on.  By now, it’s almost completely hidden.  The corner sticks off the edge of the nightstand just a bit, just enough that Oscar has nibbled it round instead of sharp. 

On the front is the lighthouse, against a blue sky.  On the back, 42 words. 

“Hey, Jen.  If you get a chance to come before the summer, it’d be good to see you.  I know you’re busy; it’s alright if you can’t make it.  I’m sure I’ll see you soon.  Take care of yourself, alright? Love, Jeff”

Every time I catch the ragged corner peeking out from under that mound of shit, for just a minute I remember that I should call, I should write, I should tell him I’ll be down to Sanibel as soon as finals are over.  I never do, but I console myself with the knowledge that after all, it’s my last year of medical school.  Jeff will understand.  Jeff can wait. 

 

 

 _Misha Collins is no longer in a relationship_. 

After a day spent learning how to deal out knowledge of imminent death, such good news is pretty damn heartening.  I nearly dance, nearly cheer, nearly stand up in the middle of friggin Pizza Hut and wave my laptop over my head like a trophy.  Chris might have done at least one of those, Jared maybe two; fortunately, I guess, neither of them is present.  I settle for freezing with my fingers over the keys, my heart thudding stupidly loud.

I cannot comment on this status change.  I feel like the worst kind of ass, perhaps appropriately, because this isn’t the sort of thing I should be celebrating.  After all, Misha’s my friend too and it’s not as if I will take the door this opens, as if I’ll call Jeff right now and make it right.  It’s not as if the door being closed ever stopped me from doing it wrong, either.

I could fix some of that though, I’m almost sure I could.  If I called right now I could probably just say _I love you_ and it would matter, it would change things.

My phone buzzes beside my plate, twice.  First, there’s Misha.

**Not that I didn’t always know the best I could do was share him, but he’s all yours now, for what it’s worth.**

Then, Jared.

**Jen, have you seen facebook?  You need to see facebook.**

I laugh, mutter a ‘thanks, man’ at my phone that he obviously can’t hear.  As I go to type, Misha sends another one.

**If any of that sounded pissed, I’m not.  It’s time I bowed out gracefully.  The rest is up to you, Jenny.**

My fingers hesitate.  I have no answers, not for either of them. 

 

 

The rain is deafening.  It’s one excuse for the way we’re not talking; a poor one, but it’s something.  Jeff hikes my leg higher against his hip, turns his face against my neck.  He’s panting, I can feel it in the hot bursts of air on my skin, in the way he struggles to muffle a groan because he’s still trying to take in air. 

I arch against him in silence, everything in me tightening, my hands clawing at his shoulders.  My arms go pretty weak after that, but I hold on long enough for him to get off.  His last thrust knocks my calf into the nightstand, rattles Bisou’s picture and the lampshade.  There’s a second of dismay where I remember what it felt like to actually feel him spill inside me, hot and slick, leaking when he pulled away.  Half the time I liked the feeling and half the time it seemed like too messy to clean, but it’s a part of him I miss.  There’s no part of Jeff I want to have to shield myself from, nothing at all. 

But that choice is one I’ve denied us, and at that realization, I squeeze his shoulders and lower my legs to the floor.  My thighs are shaking, and though he catches me against his chest, we aren’t looking at each other.  Bisou’s picture has tipped sideways, half over, pushing a bottle of Tylenol perilously close to the edge.  Overhead, the rain is pounding. 

Somehow, I still hear the sound of the screen door slamming, and I damn near jump out of my skin.  Jeff lets go, easy enough to do when he was already holding on so lightly. 

“There’s no rush, Jen.  He already knows what we’ve been doing.”  I have a dozen questions, none of them easy, none of them willing to leave my tongue.  How long has Misha known; from the beginning?  Does he care?  Obviously he doesn’t, he couldn’t, could he?  Or is he just now learning, did Jeff tell him last night?  Or is Jeff merely anticipating that there is no way to hide it, that even if we do our best to look presentable there is nothing about the two of us just now that doesn’t scream ‘sex’? 

Part of me wishes for the last, though it doesn’t feel quite true.  I feel half high on Jeff, half sick.  I hate it; the situation or myself, it’s hard to tell.   

Jeff pulls his pants on, shrugs into a shirt.  The red lines from my nails crisscross into plain view with it gaping open, but he doesn’t button a single one.  It should feel like a victory, like something, but he won’t look at me, he _still_ won’t look at me. 

I shouldn’t sit down, because if I do, I won’t want to get up.  I should stop looking at Jeff, stop wondering when fucking like this became easier than laying against his chest on the couch.  Since I came down here days ago, we haven’t touched each other for anything that wasn’t sex. 

If I’m going to fuck his boyfriend, I should have the balls to face Misha like a man.

At the very least, I should get my ass up off the floor and pull on some pants. 

My head’s throbbing and I turn it to the side, let my ear press against the wall.  If I focus, the rain is absolutely all I can hear. 

 

 

After an absence of over a year, this island, this house, it shouldn’t feel like home.  It’s never _been_ home, but it has that feel all the same.  What’s that saying, the one that says home is the place where if you go there, they have to take you in? 

The last time I saw Jeff, we’d just finished screaming at each other in a parking lot in Tallahassee.  I was sober then, though I’m sure the poor unfortunate souls in the rooms on the ground floor wouldn’t have believed it.  I’m drunk now, more than I have been in ages.  It took a few shots to get me in the door; the rest have come as everyone else has dwindled out, an already small crowd narrowed down to Jeff and me and Jared. 

Jared’s careful when he takes himself out of it, his eyes checking mine half a dozen times before he finally claps a hand to my shoulder and leaves and it’s just us, watching each other over a cluttered coffee table.  It’s past time I spoke up, but that takes another shot of Jack, so I pour.   Jeff slides another shot glass onto the table, all the way over to click against mine.  I fill his to the rim, until it’s spilling over. 

I should tell him I’m sorry.  Now’s the time, but if I do, what can I say then?  _I’m sorry, I’m ready, let’s do this?_   I can’t say it, because I’m not.  Ironically of all I’m capable of, I won’t lie to Jeff.  I could ask about Misha, about how it happened, how they came together in the time I’ve been away.  Just the thought makes my stomach roil more than the alcohol ever could, so that thought’s goin’ nowhere just now. 

He says something I don’t quite follow about the tide and it’s awkward, painful, but then we’re talking and I’ve missed the sound of his voice so much he could give me a lecture on goddamn fishhooks and I’d be at his mercy. 

We don’t make it the length of a lecture like that; maybe I knew all along we never would.  I can’t say who stands first; that’s too much to sort out when I’m drunk enough that everything tilts when I turn my head.  All I know is that after one shot that followed a couple of beers hours and hours ago he’s stable, and I have the thought for just a second that I’m glad he’s sober because I know what I want regardless, but I won’t have him make a choice he regrets.  At least, if he’s going to regret it, he has to regret it honestly, as a choice he made, not as an advantage I pressed. 

His hand closes around my wrist and though I think it appeared there to steady me, he doesn’t let go.  He smells like the sea, even here.  It’s reflex to tilt my face up to him so I do, and he’s right there, so close his lips brush mine when he whispers.

“We’re not gonna do this, Jensen.  I can’t do this.” 

He can’t, but his arm’s around my waist, and it wasn’t there a minute ago.  “Yeah.”  I whisper too, though I’m not sure why.  We’re alone here.  “Ok.  Sorry.”  But I’m not, and besides as of yet, I’ve done nothing, really. 

“I mean it.”

I know he does, know it just as thoroughly as I know his protest is going to fail.  We’re right up against each other; I can feel everything, the expansion of his chest, the slightly increased pressure where his hips are flush against mine. 

I could stop this, still.  All I have to do is pull away. 

His mouth closes over mine, and I lean into it, grasp clumsily at his belt, his shirt.  My heart’s pounding in my ears.  Misha’s my friend, honest to God he is, and I should feel something for that, I should, but all I can think is how this was inevitable, how there can be nothing wrong in this, not when we both need it so badly. 

Jeff would’ve had me make him an honest man; I’ve made him a cheater instead.  He moans my name against my throat, ragged and wanting, and I’m not sorry.  I’m not sorry at all. 

 

 

I venture out of the spare room only when I’m fairly sure I’m done crying.  It’s not as if Chris hasn’t seen it before but shit, even with him I have a measure of pride.  It’s seven AM, too fucking early or too fucking late depending on your frame of reference.  At this point, I’ve been up over 24 hours; my whole body feels wrung out, my eyes full of sand and acid. 

It doesn’t matter that I’ve waited; Chris is sitting on the arm of his couch, a cup of coffee in his hands, the neck of his guitar resting against his ankle.  He barely looks me over as I shuffle in, his eyebrows rising slightly. 

“So.  Do I need to go down there?” 

In it, I hear every question he doesn’t outright ask.  _Do I need to talk to him?  Do I need to punch him?  Do you want to talk about this or do I need to leave it alone?_   He’d do any and all of the above; I know he would, and I’m more grateful than I can say. 

I clear my throat.  “No.”  Jesus, even so, just the sound of my voice makes my throat hurt even worse.  “It was my fault.” 

“D’you sleep at all, man?” 

Do I want to change the subject?  Yeah, yeah I do.  “No.  Not in…I don’t know.”  But I do; I know the last time I slept.  I remember the touch of Jeff’s hand against my belly, fingers damp from the washcloth he’d just used to clean us off.  _Go on, Jen.  You’re half out already, aren’t you?_   A touch of pride there, all of it deserved.  He was every bit good enough to leave me limp and drifting, only now, the memory just makes my chest hurt.  The lingering ache in my ass doesn’t help matters. 

I feel too weak to just stand there, so I lean against that stupid thing Steve got for the cat, my fingers tightening on carpet Sashi’s never touched.  What can I say?  It’s not like Jeff made an unreasonable demand.  All he asked for was me, outright, in the open.  No hiding, no pretense.  If I tell Chris that, I have to tell him I am every bit the last words Jeff screamed at me before I slammed the car door.

_You’re goddamn coward, you know that?_

I do. 

 

 

For Sanibel in July, Chris and Steve have drawn quite the crowd.  They deserve it; they make a better team than I would’ve ever imagined, but maybe that’s just because I spent so much time watching Chris practice solo.  Seeing him now, the way his eyes cut to Steve while he sings, Chris playing solo is getting harder and harder to remember.   Steve looks back at him, and I wonder if the whole room sees what I see.  I wonder how many would care.  I wonder, too, how loving Steve came so easy to a boy who was raised in the same city I was, surrounded by the same influences.

Or, maybe I know the truth and I hate it- that Chris has always been the leader, always been braver than me. 

They start up a new song, and Jeff’s hands fall on my shoulders, heavy and firm, kneading the muscle beneath as he leans down to me.  “Dance with me.”

 _God, yes_.  I almost laugh, but it’s too close to a simple exhale to tell the difference.  “Come on, I haven’t danced since high school and I was pretty terrible then.  Ask Chris; he’ll tell you all about it.”

His lips reach my temple, stubble scraping light against soft skin of my ear on the way.  “Everyone here is either a friend who knows about us or a stranger who doesn’t know you from Adam.  I’ll lead.  Just dance with me.” 

In that, he isn’t wrong.  On the island, I have held his hand on the trails, pulled him to me and kissed him underneath the lighthouse, both of us laughing.  Down here, I have let myself be seen.  This place; it’s my sanctuary.  In the fall, I head back off to my first year of medical school back in Oklahoma.  I know I can’t make it back down here for Thanksgiving or Christmas and after that, who knows?  Even under the best of circumstances, when I leave here in August it’ll be months before we see each other again. 

I slide off my stool.  He holds out his hand right away, and I take it.  “You better remember I tried to warn you.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” 

Jeff pulls me in close, twines his fingers with mine and if I’m clumsy following his steps, he doesn’t seem to notice.  His cheek nuzzles against mine and I give in to impulse, past caring.  If I’m going to dance with him here, in the sight of everyone, it can’t matter if I kiss him just as boldly.  They’ve already seen; I have nothing to hide.  It’s a slow kiss, our movement slowing to a sway to match it.  He comes away with his breath unsteady, and I wonder for the thousandth time how it is I can do that to him.  I’ve never seen what he found the least bit desirable about me, but that’s never stopped him. 

I turn just enough to lay my cheek against his again, to feel him breathe against my neck.  Chris is still singing, a cover of a country song I know I’ve heard but can’t place. 

_And in the morning I’m leaving, making my way back to Cleveland_

_So tonight I hope that I will do just fine_

_And I don’t see how you could ever be_

_Anything but mine_

 

 

 

It’s amazing how hot wood can get in the sun.  It burns the soles of my feet like metal, though I try not to show it.  At least, not too much.  I’m pretty fast getting to the towel, though, fast enough that I disturb Bisou.  She’s not the type to growl, but I know that little grunt she makes has the same ‘cut it the fuck out’ connotations, so I sit down careful. 

“Sorry, baby girl.”  I murmur the words against the top of her skull, her black fur feeling just as hot under my lips as the dock did to my feet.  Her tail swishes, just once, and I know I’m forgiven.  The grey marching determinedly up her muzzle seems darker up close, darker than it looked just yesterday.  For that, I kiss her again.  “Daddy’s neglecting you, isn’t he?”

“Daddy’s making sure she has food to eat.”  Jeff’s voice drifts up from the boat, accented by the sounds of him taking the motor apart.  He couldn’t go out this morning; with the first of the summer tourists in that’s not a setback he can really afford to repeat. 

“Yeah, whatever you say, Captain Morgan.  She looks pretty lonely to me.”

“Call me Captain Morgan again and I come up there and kick your ass.” 

It’s tempting, but if he comes up here we’ll wrestle around, maybe end up in the water, climb onto the boat and have sex below deck, come back out to dry away from the cabin’s shade.  Insanely tempting, but I take enough of his time away from paying customers as it is.  For now, I’ll be good. 

Besides, it’s barely past noon and we were up damn near all night.  It feels good to lay on the dock, to stretch back and close my eyes to sun that burns red against my eyelids.  Jeff’s humming as he works, no tune I know but it goes with the soft clangs and clicks of engine work, with the lap of water against the hull of _Seattle Rain_ and the steady breathing of the dog next to me. 

I’m half asleep when I feel the blunt scratch of dog nails against my chest, the shift of Bisou lifting up and settling the top half of her body against my chest, her head right in the middle between her paws.  She sighs as she lays it down, long and heavy.  In the boat, Jeff is still humming.  This time, it sounds like The Rolling Stones. 

The thought flits into my mind that I’d be pretty damn happy if I never left this island again. 

 

 

Looking around me, I realize this isn’t a place accustomed to Spring Break crowds.  We’re a strange little collection, a jumbled mess of students that for whatever reason wanted something more out of the way or got dragged here by someone with an ulterior motive, like the two I coerced into following me down.  Maybe if this goes well enough, though, Chris and Jared won’t kill me.  I’m fairly sure Chris won’t but Jared, he’s still pretty new, easier to run off.  He seemed happy enough when I told him he could bring the dogs; maybe that’ll be enough. 

Chris is happy, anyway.  A few hours ago he met a guitar player on the beach, a kid from Ojai, recently come to the island by way of Hawaii where he went to live by the ocean and work on his steel guitar.  They’ve been talking music nonstop ever since, and Chris looks happier than college has so far managed to make him.  It’s a good change.     

The bar we’re at is one of the only ones here, small and cozy and dark and full of heat from this patchwork crowd.  Jeff leans on the bar while he takes a shot of tequila, first salting his hand even though they’d have given it to him on the rim, all because he knows I like to watch him suck it off.  He sets the glass down hard when he finishes, rim down.  The gaze he’s looking me over with is downright predatory, enough that I know I’ve reddened at least a little under his stare. 

We haven’t had a chance to be alone since I drove in, not properly, not really, not for more than a kiss against the back of my car.  The others know,  but kissing him here would be different, another thing entirely than kissing him on the beach where no one really watches.  I want to kiss the taste of tequila off his lips; I want to suck the last hint of salt off the webbing of his thumb.  The way he’s looking at me, if I ask I can just about guarantee he’ll leave here with me right now.  It’s probably what he wants anyway, he-

Is looking past me, to someone else he motions over with his eyes bright and welcoming, the dark glint of sex for the moment gone.  I turn around in time to see a guy about my age, maybe a little older.  Dark hair, startlingly blue eyes, gorgeous enough all over.  For half a second I’m jealous, but then Jeff is rising off his stool, his hand pressing to the small of my back as he hovers all around me, his stance too possessive to be mistaken.  If I was a parrot, I’d be preening. 

“Jen, I want you to meet a buddy of mine; this is Misha.  He’s at school over at UF, some crazy physics nut. ”  This is a joke between them, I know, because they both laugh.  “He came down here for the shells a few months ago but the bastard just keeps coming back.” 

 I take Misha’s hand, half distracted by the stroke of Jeff’s thumb over the thin cotton of my t-shirt.  “Hey, man.  I’m Jensen.” 

 

 

“I’m going to hell.”

Even over this tinny payphone, his laughter is rich and warm.  A good measure of my guilt melts under the sound.  “It’s a good thing; I’ve been told I’m headed there myself.”  I can hear him shift the phone against his shoulder, and my mind supplies an image to go with it, utter conjecture.  Maybe Bisou is half in his lap, maybe he’s drinking a beer and watching TV Land.  “What’d you do this time, Jen?” 

Maybe a really stupid thing.  Maybe.  My palms are sweating, and I switch the handset to my left hand, wipe my right on my jeans.  “Well, lying to momma about why I’m not coming home for Thanksgiving definitely can’t have won me any points; I’ll say that.” 

It takes him a heartbeat to get it, I think.  When he does, I hear rustling again.  “Where are you?”

My laughter is nervous, and I hope he can’t tell.  I hope that to him I sound nothing but confidant, though I know that can’t be true.  “A truck stop outside of Mobile.  Think I’m gonna have to sleep in the car for a little bit, but I wanted to-“

“ _Fuck_ , seriously?”  There’s no weirded out incredulity; nothing I feared.  Just the joy I’d hoped might be there, the kind that seems to take ten years off him.  It all comes back to me in a rush- this is why I lied to her, why I’m skipping class Wednesday, why I’m driving 21 fucking hours with what’ll probably be a rather pathetic nap in-between. 

“Seriously.  It’s ok?”

“No.  It’s perfect; it’s…”  His voice drops, rough and sincere.  “Hey.  I love you.” 

It makes me as giddy as it did last summer.  My skin buzzes with its residue, as if the words bounce like echoes in my bones.  I lean into the brick wall beside the phone to make up for the sudden weakness that makes it hard to keep standing.  “Yeah.  Love you too.”  The payphone chirps at me.  I didn’t have much change.  “Jeff, this thing’s yellin’ at me so-“

“Go on and get some sleep; I’ll see you tomorrow.”  I can hear him smiling.  “I can’t believe you.  You gotta be exhausted.”

“It’s not so bad.”  Not bad at all, not knowing I’ll have at least a couple days with Jeff once I get to the end of this drive. 

“Be safe, Jen.”

The phone cuts me off before I can answer. 

 

 

The light across Jeff’s face flickers, tampered with by the shadows of moths as they dance around the porch light.  It’s fucking four thirty in the morning, too early for driving, too early for goodbyes.  This is the third time I’ve left Jeff but the first time I’ve had to be the one to set the schedule, to take myself away instead of leaving at my mother’s discretion, my last minutes with Jeff squeezed in the day before.

I understand, now, why so many songs are written about goodbyes. 

Jeff smiles, reaches out to swipe his thumb along the sensitive skin just underneath my eye.  “Probably should’ve gotten more sleep before your drive.”

No, sleep I can get along the way.  Him, I can’t.  “Can sleep when I’m dead.”

“No one sleeps when they’re dead.  Too busy.”  We’re both too tired, too strained to be funny.  There’s stubble on his cheeks and I reach up to touch it, to feel its scratch against my palms.  His head tilts left, into my hand.  “Need to shave, I know.  It’s just too damn early.”

“No, you don’t.  I like it.”  Shit, I know I’m blushing, know it even more by the way his smile widens.  Hell, I _do_ like it; it’s nothing to be ashamed of.  I should’ve told him days ago, the morning we stayed late in bed and the scratch of stubble left the inside of my thighs red.  He apologized; he shouldn’t have.  Even remembering, I shiver. 

“You do, don’t you?  I’ll have to remember that.”  He leans down for a kiss, so tender it’d seem hesitant if his slow withdrawal from my mouth wasn’t so blatant, his teeth tugging lightly on my lower lip.  “You should go.”  He whispers, and I know he means, _Before I don’t let you._  

Even breathing hurts.  _Don’t let me; keep me here.  Another day, at least._   “I’ll call when I get to Oklahoma.” 

For a moment, he takes me fully in his arms, holds me to his chest so tight I can feel the reluctance in his exhalation just before he lets go.  “Do; I’d like to know you got there safe.  You’ve got the map I marked for you?” 

I do, right beside the console in the passenger seat, flipped up to show the roads back to the mainland first.  I nod, and he takes a step back, like the miniscule distance it causes will help us get this over with. 

“Ok.” 

“Ok.” 

When it comes to it, I can’t actually say goodbye.  I just walk off the porch, grateful I don’t miss the bottom step, more grateful still that this morning at least, there’s no young alligator in the front yard.  I don’t stop moving until I’ve crossed the bridge, until I’m heading through Fort Myers and I stop for coffee at a gas station.  The man behind the counter offers me a map and before I can think I say, “It’s ok, my boyfriend made some notes on an old map of his for me.” 

 _My boyfriend_.  It just slipped out, so easy.  I don’t know if it’s true yet, if it ever will be, but it sure as hell felt right saying it. 

 

 

Getting dressed to leave the hotel, I tried my best to channel Chris.  I’ve rarely felt so stupid as I did standing there over that damn suitcase, tossing shit out onto the bed, the violence of those tosses getting rougher and rougher with each shirt I didn’t pick.  It shouldn’t be this hard, dammit; I shouldn’t still be this shy.  I reminded myself a dozen times that I’m no anxious virgin, not anymore, but that doesn’t exactly help because after all, it was just the once, and it’s been a year.  I’ve had no one since, not back in my hometown where I’m too shy for anyone but Chris to even know about me, much less anything else. 

It wasn’t much help asking myself what Chris would do, either.  He’d probably go shirtless over a pair of tight jeans, and that I just don’t have the confidence for, not now, not when I don’t even know if he’ll want me there.  Last fall my faith in him seemed absolute; the closer we got to comin’ back, the more doubts I realized I’d been carrying all along. 

Could be the whole thing hadn’t meant shit to him after all; could be he picked up some kid like me every summer.  Maybe more than one.  Chances were, I’d go to him and he wouldn’t even remember my name.  I had to try, sure, but I couldn’t expect too much.  I couldn’t.

No matter my repetitions of that, either, I couldn’t calm down.  I shut the door to my room, lay back and took my cock out.  No matter how often I’d used last year’s memories they never got stale and I called to mind last year on the deck of his ship around sunset, the first time a hand other than mine had wrapped around my cock.  It didn’t take long to get off after that; I hoped that’d be enough to at least take the edge off the tension. 

After that, I stopped overthinking it, grabbed a shirt that’s getting just a little too small and a faded pair of jeans and told mom I was heading out.  Playing the odds I assumed he’d be out at Captiva on his boat dock rather than home on Sanibel, a bike ride of at least an hour.  If I’d asked for the car, I’d have had to explain something, some lie.  Worse, I’d have had to plan when to bring it back.  

So I took the bike, rode an hour and a half, came to wait here in enough time to see the _Seattle Rain_ pull in about 30 minutes after I found the right dock.  My first glimpse of Jeff in a year shows me everything I remember, and a few things new.  Sunglasses, mirrored, though he isn’t wearing them properly, just pushed up on his head.  His tan seems darker, and the red of his _Coca-Cola_ shirt is a little lighter.  For the most part, he could’ve stepped right out of my memory. 

The _Seattle_ docks, and for a moment my heart’s pounding so loud I think maybe I should slip in with the tourists getting off, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all, because he’s  beautiful and I’ve missed him and if he doesn’t know me, if he doesn’t care…

I’ve never had my heart broken.  Seeing what it’s done to momma, I’d really rather not know what it’s like. 

Still, wise, or not, I hold my ground until the little group shuffles by, and he looks up, and there I am.  It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something along the lines of _Hey, it’s Jensen, I don’t know if you remember-_

But he beats me, comes right up to the edge of the boat, just short of leaping off onto the dock, and it’s in his eyes that he knows me, that he’s drinking the sight of me in the way I did with him.  I don’t have to ask a damn thing. 

“Jensen.  It’s good to see you.”  He’s careful; I wish he wouldn’t be.  What does he think, that I regret it?  If I did, why the hell would I be here?  _Shit_. 

I nod toward the deck.  “Permission to come aboard?” 

His laughter is too soft, too uncertain.  “Of course, yeah, c’mon over here.” 

I hop down, reacquaint myself for a second with the way the rock of a boat feels under your feet.  We look at each other properly, and I can see his hesitation all over his face.  He does wonder; I’m either here because I want to be with him or here to confront him because I changed my mind. 

I gesture toward the cabin, cool and dark and out of the line of sight of any curious eyes still on the docks.  “Can we sit down?”  I’ve never felt less like sitting down in my life, but it’ll get him out of the light. 

He nods, and I wait until we’re both inside.  My eyes are still adjusting, the blinding white of above too much for the muted half black of below.  The pounding of my heart goes pretty well with the disorientation.  I have to do something; I have to.  This time, I have to be the brave one.

I’ve never been the type to imagine myself good at first moves, first kisses, but I talk myself into it by refusing to hesitate, by telling myself this isn’t our first kiss, our first anything.  We’ve done all that; everything from now on is steps into something else. 

I catch his hand, manage to force his name a little strangled from my throat and I’m trying, really trying to get up the nerve to pull him in and kiss him but as it turns out, it seems I’ve done enough.  Whatever he was waiting to see in me before he moved, he must see it now.  He turns quick, pushes me up against the wall so hard the life ring just inside the cabin glances off my elbow and bounces to the floor.  His hands cup my face in one swift movement and _God_ I’d forgotten how big they are, how big _he_ is, what it’s like to feel enveloped and wanted and adored. 

This kiss is rougher than any we’ve ever had, a mess of desire without control.  Before, he was afraid to push too hard, to take too much.  Now, I don’t think he’s holding anything back.  When he pulls away from my lips it’s only to turn my head to bare my neck, his teeth skimming against my jaw on his way down.

“I thought I’d never see you again.”  He says it with such breathless awe it hurts, too honest to be denied.

“Don’t know why.  I told you I’d be back.”  Seems I can’t talk too well either.  He bites down on the side of my neck and I moan, the sound catching me off guard.  I never have this trouble jacking off; I never thought I’d be the type to struggle to stay quiet.  He brings out something else in me, something I haven’t been able to look too closely at.  I’m going hard already, enough to make me squirm, half from the need to move and half because I remember that if I do, he’ll give me the pressure of his thigh, maybe the heel of his hand. 

I’m not wrong.  He laves my throat with his tongue, cups the front of my jeans and curses when I jerk up into his palm.  I can’t even care how desperate I seem; I’ll take his hand, his mouth, his cock, anything, anything at all. 

“Mr. Morgan?”

A fucking tourist, up on the dock.  My head thunks back against the wall and I let out a soft, breathless _fuck_.  Jeff’s hand squeezes over the front of my jeans, lightly.  The rest of him has gone absolutely still. 

“Just a minute; be right up!”  He calls out in his public voice, forced happy, the words just a little muffled against my throat.  He nuzzles against my ear, speaks so quiet I’m hardly sure I’m not putting sound to silence. “Can’t believe you’re here, Jen.  I hoped you’d come back.” 

I cling to his arms, his shoulders, slide my hands down his back and take a grip of his shirt, wet with sweat and sticking across his spine.  It’s good to hold on, since I know in about two seconds I’ll have to let him go up top.  “I missed you too.” 

 

 

Jeff’s fingers come to rest against my belly, still sticky with lube.  My cock brushes the back of his knuckles and I whine, writhing, only half pacified when he catches my lips in a heated kiss.  I can feel the solid weight of his cock against my ass.  It’s enough to drive a guy insane. 

“You sure about this, sweetheart?  We don’t have to.”  Yeah, I know we don’t.  He’s given me about a dozen chances to opt out and I appreciate it, I do, but I’m not confused and I’m not scared and I haven’t changed my mind in the last five minutes. 

Well, alright.  Maybe I’m a little scared, but the part about changing my mind, that one’s solid.  I know what I want, even if the actual execution of it’s a little daunting.  I lick my lips, focus on stringing a few words together and not letting them shake.

“Yeah.  Yeah, I’m sure.”  I arch against him, enough that I know he has to have a good view of the mark he left on my collar just two days ago, bruising nicely now.  “Please?”  It’s half question, half gasp.  Jeff’s answering pressure against my stomach is satisfyingly strong, a sharp contrast to his lips against the back of my neck.  His kisses are gentle, careful, all the more arousing for his restraint. 

“Ok.  Ok.  But if you want to stop-“

“I know; I know, Jeff, please-“

“Shhh.  It’s alright.”  Finally, _finally_ I feel his hand slide back around between us.  The bottle hits the back of my thighs as he fumbles some more lube onto his fingers for a final coat on his cock and then he’s lining up and pushing in.  For all the work of his fingers, the head of his cock is wide, the reality of his girth startling.  I know, logically, that he can’t be in more than an inch or so but I’ve never felt so full in my life and it _burns_ around the edges, enough that I don’t know how this’ll work, how he’ll fit, how-

“Breathe, Jen.”  His breath is so hot against the shell of my ear, damp and sexy.  Good thing, because right about now, my cock’s losing interest.  Dammit.  “Relax for me, sweetheart; I know it hurts.  Do you-“

“No, no don’t stop.”  If we stop, I don’t know that I’ll ever get started again. 

Despite a vague attempt by my hips to push backward, he pauses, keeps us in equilibrium while he rubs his hand up and down my thigh.  He mouths at my shoulder, warm and wet, and it’s good, more than good.  The stretch of his cock is starting to feel more and more like an itch to be scratched rather than a pain to be pulled away from.  He takes my cock in hand, a slow stroke, and I’m hard again in his grip.  His hips shift, a slow, slight pull back before he sinks in further. 

This time I cry out, more pleasure than pain.  My body twists, uncaring that beneath the blanket I can feel the grooves of the Jeep’s trunk; my only focus is pressing my hips back closer to his, taking him in another inch.   The moan that draws from his chest has to be the single hottest thing I’ve ever heard.

We are coming apart together, me trembling, Jeff shouldering an illusion of control I can feel sliding from him the closer he gets.  If this had hurt twice as much as it does, it’d still be worth it. 

 

 

I’m clinging to the rail, hard enough that I know my knuckles must be white.  For the first time in my life, I’ve actually been properly kissed. 

My eyes must be wide as an owl, because around his smile Jeff says, “Is this ok?”  As if he didn’t know; as if I didn’t just kiss him back. 

I nod, maybe too quick because I feel the heat of blush on my cheeks.  I need to stop that; I don’t want to look like some naïve kid but I’m new to this and I’m lost for words and all I can do is look at him. 

God, he’s beautiful. 

Jeff chuckles, brushes the back of his knuckles against the side of my neck, stroking.  Under his breath he says, “Come here, Jensen.”

So I do.

\---------

Misha says that physics teaches us the amount of realities in existence is infinite.  According to this belief, there is a world where I came back to Florida before it was too late, a world where I spent the last days of Jeff’s life being his partner in every way rather than merely in theory.  Somewhere, there’s even a world where instead of driving away from that parking lot after our biggest fight, I told him yes, he was right, we belonged together.

In that world, he never dated Misha, and we never became anything that would leave a bitter taste in my mouth.  In that world, maybe Jeff lived.  Maybe we get married after my internship.  Maybe we raise a family. 

Of course as a corollary to all this, I know there exist thousands of worlds where we never met each other at all, but I don’t waste any time thinking about those.  My choices in this one have been bad enough for a lifetime of introspection. 

Last night, I sat out with Misha on the dock beside the _Seattle_.  She’s gone unused for a few months; she’s dirty and bored.  He thinks we should take her out this weekend; I think it’s a good idea.  Maybe out on the water, I’ll find the right spot for those ashes, or maybe I’ll hold on just a little longer. 

Misha leans against the closest pillar, one leg dangling down toward the black water as he sips a screwdriver.  It’s well past midnight, and he looks like he just crawled out of bed.  For all I know, maybe he did.

“We were…ever since I came back down here that first year of medical school, me and Jeff were-“

“I know.”  He is picture of absolute calm, though he takes a minute for a longer drink.  “Did you miss the part where I told you I wasn’t mad?”

“No, but I didn’t know how much you knew.”  I never have, but I’ve always wanted to know.  Now that I’m talking, I can’t shut up.  “Did Jeff tell you from the beginning?”

He nods once, just a tip of his head.  “He did, but he didn’t have to.  I saw it coming.  You two were perfect together, but you weren’t always good to each other.”

It’s the most accurate and painful description of us I’ve ever heard.  I try to keep from showing just how deep it cuts.

“I’d heard enough about you before I ever met you to know just how deep you’d gone under his skin; long before anything ever happened between me and Jeff I knew so long as you were an option, for him you’d be the only choice.  You were it for Jeff, so here’s how I saw it- this was going to end one of two ways.”  He finishes his drink, sets the glass down carefully on the dock before pulling his leg up, crossing them both as he leans forward.  “You could start the likely painfully slow process of getting your head out of your ass and realizing what you had and in that case, when you finished school you’d move closer.  Or, your fear would get the best of you and if it did, you’d move farther, sever the last ties.  If the first, I’d be willing to back off.  If the second, he’d eventually be ready to move on, and I’d be there to help him.” 

He is, as ever, unflinchingly honest.  I like that about him, at least as much as I hate it.  I certainly can’t say he’s wrong; I’ve spent far too many years afraid of what choosing Jeff would mean.  Afraid of choosing myself, really.  Facades are easier, even when they crack. 

I make myself hold his gaze, though it’s hard.  Those eyes are just too goddamn blue.  “My internship, it’s in Savannah.” 

He smiles, slight and sad, but real.  “See?  Closer.  Jeff was right about you.” 

My eyes burn and I turn toward the water, try to focus on the tiny pinpricks of light that dot the horizon.  It’s coming up on the time of year when the beach goes dark, paving the way for the turtles.  The distraction does no good; the lights are swimming.  I blink, catch the tears on the back of my hand.  “Yeah, maybe, but it’s not like it matters.  It’s too late.  I was too late.” 

His hands find mine, his hold light but strong.  “Everything matters, Jenny.” 

It’s in the back of my throat to say it’s only Chris that calls me Jenny but I realize I don’t mind, not now. 

He clears his throat.  “Look, I know you think you owe me an apology even though you don’t, but I owe you one.  I should’ve called, when he got sick.  He didn’t want to worry you, so he asked me to keep it quiet.  He said you’d be here soon enough.  He never doubted you’d come and he was right, but I never should have agreed.  You had a right to know.  I’m sorry, Jensen.” 

I don’t know if I’m angry with him for that; I don’t even know if I have a right to be.  Jeff asked me to come, in his own way, and I didn’t.  I’m the one that has to live with that.  If you asked me how I plan to go about that, right now, I’ve got nothing.  I have to hope I can figure it out.  After all, everything has to start from somewhere and hell, maybe Misha’s right.  Maybe all change matters, even if it comes too late.

I squeeze his fingers, lightly, enough for him to know it’s alright. 

“Yeah.  I’m sorry too.” 


End file.
